Quite unprepared for it, Donald found himself adrift in the ocean of adulthood. Stability bored him and unpredictability scared him. But one thing he was sure about was shaking the dust of Pobblestrum off his feet once and for all.

In moving to the outskirts of Bogcragston, he exchanged Ladies and Knights for ladies of the night, wychert-lined alleyways for litter-lined streets and cob cottages for derelict hovels.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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